


Gift of the Mage

by darkrose



Series: Mad World [5]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Angst, Family Drama, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For First Day, Zevran gets Alistair something he didn't ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift of the Mage

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the Mad World (Whore!Alistair) AU, several years after the end of Awakening. Alistair is Arl of Amaranthine and Commander of the Grey. The reference Alistair makes to meeting his mother in the Fade is an as-yet-unwritten version of Alistair's Fade dream during the Broken Circle quest. Please note that I consider the epilogue of _The Calling_ to be canon backstory for Alistair.

When you've fought beside someone every day for almost two years, you know where the weak points in his armor are, where his blind spots are, the way his guard gets sloppy when he's tired. You're aware of all that in an instinctive, bone-deep way, so you don't think about it when you lash out, and all of a sudden what should have been a scratch has turned into a death blow.

Okay, so I'm torturing that metaphor until it screams for mercy, but you get the idea. The point is that even though it ended up...not bad...it was mostly my fault to begin with.

I was writing a letter to my mother, like I had the previous year, and the one before that, and every year around First Day since I'd been named Warden-Commander. I had yet to receive a response, and I didn't really think that was going to change, but for reasons I preferred not to examine too closely, I kept writing.

Zevran, of course, had opinions on the subject.

"Let me see...." he said, leaning against the bedpost. "This is not Grey Warden business, or anything to do with the arling; if it were, you would be in your study. Nor, I think, are you writing to our beloved Queen, or any of our friends, because you would not be trying so desperately to conceal it from me. And given that First Day is approaching....I must conclude that you are once again sending a pointless missive to that woman at Weisshaupt who claims to be your mother."

I set the pen down. "She _is_ my mother, Zevran."

He folded his arms. "Ah, yes. A strange elven woman you encountered in the Fade claims to be a mage, a Grey Warden, and your mother. I will grant that the Fade is as likely a place as any to encounter a wandering mage, certainly under the circumstances we encountered at the Circle Tower--"

"Do we have to have this conversation again? Can't you just go away for a few minutes and let me finish?"

"--but given what we know of King Maric's....preferences...any female elf could make a credible claim to be your mother, no?"

 _"Zevran!"_ I clenched my fist against the urge to smack him.

"Answer one question for me, _mi querido_ Alistair," he said quietly, "If this woman is truly your mother, and she is a Grey Warden, why has she not yet had her Calling?"

I'd asked myself that more than once. I was old enough that unless she'd had her Joining right before I was conceived, she should have gone to the Deep Roads. Maybe she had, and that was why I'd never gotten a reply to any of my letters.

"Alistair...." Zev stroked the side of my face. "Even if this woman still lives, you owe her nothing. She made the choice to abandon you...."

I pulled away from him. "So because you never knew your mother, you don't want me to try to know mine, is that it?"

As soon as I'd said it, I wished I hadn't. Zevran's eyes narrowed, his face shuttered and the assassin's mask firmly in place.

"Your mother may well have been an elf, but that does not make you one," he said, his voice cool and level. "Do not presume to know what I think or feel on this, or on any other matter." Then he was gone, before I could stammer out an apology, and I knew I'd be sleeping alone for a while.

As it turned out, it was only a couple of nights. It wasn't that unusual for Zev to vanish for a day or two, only to reappear acting as if nothing had happened. It was most likely to be after we'd argued--which, even after all this time, we still did--but sometimes he'd just take off for no apparent reason. I suspected that he needed to prove to himself that he _could_ , and so I never said anything, as long as he came back. It's not like I wasn't occasionally tempted to do the same.

He waved off my apologies. "We have traded sharper barbs, _mi cariño_ , and no doubt will again. Think no more of it."

I couldn't let it go, though. For some reason, I felt like I'd gone way over the line this time. I even proposed that he come up with a suitable punishment; he recoiled in horror at the suggestion.

" _Absolutamente no,_ " he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I will happily beat you because we both enjoy it, but I will not complicate our games by tangling them with genuine quarrels."

That should have been the end of it. However, as has often been observed, I'm sometimes overly fond of dramatic gestures. After we'd gone to bed, I got up and tossed the half-finished letter to my mother into the fireplace.

"What are you doing, _mi amado_?" Zev said, his voice rough with sleep.

"Something I should have done a while ago." I glanced over at him and managed a rueful smile. "You were right. I don't even know if my mother's alive, and if she is, well....she's made it pretty clear that she doesn't want anything to do with me. And...it's not as though I don't have a family now."

Zevran was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, "Come back to bed, _querido_." I did, and I quickly stopped thinking about anything other than his nimble fingers and amazing mouth.

He was gone when I woke the next morning. It was a little soon after his previous vanishing act, but I didn't think anything of it until the head groom asked to see me, and informed me that someone had taken one of the small, fast horses that the couriers and scouts used.

A week went by. Then two. Zevran's absence was noted; everyone was used to him popping out of nowhere, usually when he could be most annoying. No one said anything except Varel, who asked with his usual bland expression if Master Arainai would be attending the First Day feast this year.

"I don't know," I snapped, "I'm not his keeper."

Varel just inclined his head and made a note, and I continued to act as though nothing was different. I even bought the usual First Day presents for him--one for my lover and one for my _patrón_ \--and pretended that I wasn't waking every night from vague, formless nightmares that had me reaching for someone who wasn't there.

Two days before the end of the year, a blizzard dumped wet, heavy snow on the arling. The Pilgrim's Path was impassible, and just going from the Vigil to Amaranthine City was a major undertaking. I'd resigned myself to Zevran's absence for the holiday; I was just hoping he'd come back, period.

After waking up from a particularly unpleasant dream one night, I went down to the stables. The scent of horses and hay had always been linked with thoughts of safety, and home, and a time in my life when I didn't know what words like "bastard" and "whore" meant. Also, next to the kitchens, the stables were the warmest part of that drafty pile of stone.

I was brushing Hafter, the big, placid grey that I rode when I needed to look impressive, when the stable door swung open. I drew my dagger--even in my own keep, I wasn't stupid enough to wander around completely unarmed--and watched as a cloaked figure came in, leading a horse ridden by another, smaller person in a cloak.

Zevran shook snow off himself and threw his hood back. I wasn't that surprised; I was hardly the only one who liked dramatic gestures. He glanced at the dagger I was holding and smiled very slightly.

"I would not blame you for wanting me dead, _mi cariño_ , but I beg you, stay your hand a moment." He turned to help the other person down from the horse.

Even before she pushed back her hood, I knew who she was. She didn't look much different than she had in the Fade, aside from her hair being completely white, instead of silver streaked with black. She was smaller than I'd expected, as well; she barely came up to Zev's shoulder, and I towered over her. But her eyes were the identical shape and brown/green/gold color as mine, and her ears were still definitely pointed.

"I'm sorry, _mi amado_ , I did not expect it to take quite so long," Zev said as he unsaddled the horse. "The snow slowed us down, I'm afraid."

I turned away from my mother to stare at him. "You went to Weisshaupt. To bring my mother back."

He arched an eyebrow, and I blushed. It _was_ kind of a stupid question, but I was having trouble getting my head around it.

"Well, since you destroyed the letter, the only logical way to contact her was to go to where she was," he said. "I don't recommend the Anderfels as a holiday destination, by the way. The weather is even worse than here, and the landscape is on the horrific side of desolate."

"Why?" I blurted out. None of this made _sense_.

Zevran didn't look at me. "I know that you consider the Grey Wardens to be your family, and it seemed that at the very least, you deserved to know whether a particular family member was...well." He patted the horse. "I shall see about having a guest room prepared; no need to wake Varel. I will return shortly."

"I hate it when you do that, you know," I muttered to thin air.

The woman was silent, and we watched each other as the silence stretched from awkward to painful to agnonizing. At last she held out a hand.

"Hello, Alistair," she said, "I'm Fiona."

Her hand was tiny, and felt oddly fragile in mine.

"I know," I told her, "I know."


End file.
